cremains of the day

Russell took the news with a sigh of resignation when his Doctor told him that the cancer had returned. Eighteen years ago he had been an unstoppable force, determined to prevail. This time the Doctor didn’t act that concerned and neither did Russell. Whether he was too battle weary or simply resigned to the inevitable, he just didn’t seem to have the fight in him this time. Diagnosed in the summertime, he was gone on the first of February.

Suddenly we found ourselves putting together a memorial with his favorite flowers and his favorite music, and oddly enough, a borrowed urn which I referred to as “Loaner Russell.” It seems the mortuary missed their promise date, and so I borrowed an empty container from the display shelf. It wasn’t the first party that he missed Instead of Russell, I had a demo. Only someone with three decades of automotive experience would see the humor in that.

A week later I got the call that Russell was ready and I could bring Loaner Russell back and do the swap. The real Russell was surprisingly heavy both physically and emotionally, and I was glad that I asked a friend to come along. I thought the trunk was too utilitarian, so Russell rode home on the back seat.

And there he was. We put Russell on the round table in the family room and I talked to him every time I walked by. But we all understood that this was only a temporary abode that raised a question we had thus far failed to ask- what exactly to do with him. During the later stages of his illness we talked about trusts and heirs and cremation, but I never asked where he wanted to be and he never volunteered.

It was a little bit the same when my Mother passed away in 2007, the Michigan clay in December was frozen too hard to bury her urn, so it sat atop my brother’s television until spring. It kept her warm, I told myself, and besides- she’s always enjoyed television so it wasn’t an altogether inappropriate place to spend the winter.

But cremains sometimes go astray in their temporary settings. I recall a frantic telephone call a few years back from my friend Steven in Los Angeles. He was having new built-in bookcases made for his home office, and had hauled all of the old freestanding wood ones to a consignment shop in Palm Springs to sell. But somehow he had overlooked a black velvet bag which contained the mortal remains of his Mother, Alice. I hung up the phone and raced right over to the shop but they were in the midst of their summer shutdown.

By the time they reopened I was first in line. I looked through the cabinets but found no signs of Alice. I told the shopkeeper that Steven thought he had left the remains of his cat in the bookcase- it sounded a bit too odd to me to admit that he had really misplaced his Mother. They looked but didn’t find anything- she had most certainly been tossed in the dumpster by a well meaning employee when the cabinets were checked in, and in this case it really was perfect- Alice was a devoted shopper who loved a bargain. I say hello to her every time I visit the store.

And so Russell rested on the family room table where he so often sat at his computer. His little polished box is home for now we find a more lasting one- perhaps a hillside overlooking the desert, the boat ride on the ocean, or maybe even divide him up among a favorite racetrack or two- I can imagine myself smuggling him into the infield. I hadn’t really given much thought to the transience of cremation, but it really does leave a big question for those left behind- and I admit that I am struggling with the finality of the choice we ultimately make.

And at the same time I’m aware that I am being totally irrational. Wherever we finally place him, he’ll never leave the house. I talk to him constantly there, and he often replies- by blowing a light bulb, moving a picture, or even the day of his memorial when an hour before the service the cable on the TV he most often watched went out. That TV alone, the others weren't affected. It came back on a couple of hours later. So I don’t really think he’s leaving us, a thought that I find oddly comforting. But there’s the matter of the earthly dust. Cremains. Mortal Leftovers, Ashes, Dust. Isn’t it really just dust?  

air dreams

I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday from a troubled dream. I was with a friend, in a house I did not recognize. He had dark hair and Mediterranean features. I did not know his name. He was upset because his parents had dropped in unexpectedly. They were an older couple, the wife was speaking a few words of English through a thick French accent. I thought they were very nice. "They are", he explained. 'I just can't seem to get them to accept that they're dead". I remember being very pragmatic, suggesting that we show them the death certificates, which were in view on the table.

Then I awoke.

It wasn't until morning that I heard about Air France 447, an Airbus 330 with 228 people on board, being lost in the Atlantic.

I wonder if I will recognize her picture.

winchester pixie

The plane pushed back from the terminal just after 7 pm on Valentine's Day, and taxied to runway 22 to await takeoff clearance. The weather at Idlewild was cold. The last minute commemorative photographs taken on the gangway show ladies and gentlemen wearing heavy winter coats. It was already dark, and there is a dusting of snow on the tarmac.

The plane, however, was warm and inviting. Boeing airframe number 17642 was a 707-329 long distance Jet Airliner. It has been completed in late 1959 and first test-flown on December 31st. The completed aircraft had been delivered to its new owner on January 15, 1960. Sabena World Airways registered the craft as 00-SJB. One of twenty they would ultimately purchase, this was only the second one they had received. With just barely three thousand hours in the air, it would commemorate its thirteenth month in service during the flight.

Sabena was very proud of their expansion into Jet travel, and the craft was richly emblazoned with the Boeing 707 logo at each fuselage door, alongside their promise of "world service". Their own logo, a highly stylized "S" in period font, curved up the blue vertical stabilizer like a cat's tail.











As brand new as the aircraft seemed, so too was the very idea of transatlantic jet travel in itself. It has been said that the Boeing 707 really started the Jet Age, and that had only been recently. The 707 received its airworthiness certificate on September 18, 1958, and airline deliveries began shortly thereafter. Why, airline travel itself was still quite new. having made great progress in the peaceful postwar 50's. But as with any new technology, there had been issues. A midair collision of a TWA Super Constellation and a United DC-7 Turboprop over the Grand Canyon in 1956 set into motion greatly expanded flight tracking and led to the establishment of the FAA.

The safety of air travel has suffered a setback just days before Christmas 1960, when another Constellation was rammed by a United DC-8 Jet while both were circling this very same airport, Idlewild. Airplane parts rained down upon two neighborhoods in New York. But these thoughts were not on the minds of the passengers of Sabena Flight 548 on that evening of February 14, 1961. They were all busily dreaming of their upcoming adventures in Europe.

The entire US Figure Skating Team were on board. They had elected to travel together to the world championships in Prague. Sixteen athletes were on the flight, along with eighteen coaches, assistants, and family members. They accounted for over half of the passenger list of sixty-one.


















No one on the trip had more to look forward to than sixteen year old Laurent Owen of Winchester, Massachussetts. Daughter of Olympic Champion Ice Skaters Guy Owen and Maribel Vincent Owen, Laurie has her eye set on the World Ladies Figure Skating Championship. She had won the US Gold Medal in Ladies Singles less than a month prior, and was accompanied my her mother and sister, Maribel Owen, who had won the Gold Medal in pairs skating with her partner Dudley Richards.


















Laurie was an intense young woman with bright eyes, a graceful manner and a charming smile. She had become a media sensation since winning the US Championship, and had been nicknamed the "Winchester Pixie". The very week of the flight she graced the cover of Sports Illustrated in a red costume and white skates. She would have walked by pictures of herself on the newsstand in order to reach the boarding gate.


















Many other talented skaters were on board as well. Single skaters Gregory Kelley, Bradley Lord, Rhode Lee Michelson, Douglas Ramsay and Stephanie Westerfeld; Pairs skaters Ila Ray Hadley and Ray Hadley, Jr., and Laurie Jean Hickox and William Holmes Hickox, both brother and sister teams. Ice dancers Roger Campbell and Dona Lee Carrier, husband and wife skaters Robert and Patricia Dineen, who had a nine month old son, Dallas "Larry" Pierce and Diane Carol Sherbloom, who won the gold at the US Nationals despite only working together for five weeks, and many others.

Sabena 548 taxied along Runway 22 and lifted off from New York on its overnight transcontinental flight. No one had an inkling that once aloft, they would not reunite with the Earth.

The flight itself was by all evidence uneventful.The 707 approached the airport in Brussel-Zaventem on schedule for an expected 10 AM landing, but had to abort the first attempt and circle the field for a second approach. While circling, it became evident that something was terribly wrong. According to eyewitnesses, the 707 began to pitch "like a bucking bronco", until it stood almost straight up on end and disappeared into a farmer's field. A horrible loud crash and a fireball ensued. Sixty-one passengers, eleven crew, and a farmer on the ground were killed. It was the first crash of a 707 in passenger service.

FAA Investigators would later conclude that the most plausible hypothesis was a malfunction of the stabilizer adjusting mechanism, but no absolute cause was ever established.

The US Skating Team, and most of the seasoned US coaches, were gone.

The photographs of the wreckage are heartbreaking. Skates and Olympic jackets were strewn across the field. particularly heartbreaking is the poignant image of a partially burned copy of Sports Illustrated, with a smiling Laurence Owen, among the twisted metal of the once-proud Sabena flagship.




















The world championships were canceled out of respect for the US team. The sadness of such a loss will never really fade, the joy of youth and the excitement of competition cut short before their time. These young people, lost just as they were coming in to the height of their athletic talents. It truly is beyond comprehension.

Recently I came upon archival footage of the 1961 US Finals. Held in Colorado Springs in Janary, 1961. It's both wonderful and tragic- as it puts faces on the names of the victims in a very real way but also tells their stories and allows us a glimpse of them at the high point of their young lives. It allows us to see them as they would most want to be remembered.

It's such a charming display. The men wear ties and tailored jackets. The contestants are referred to as Mr. and Miss. Even the judges have a formality to them, displaying their scores at the sound of a whistle. It was a more gracious time.

In Pairs Skating, the silver medal was won by siblings Ila Ray Hadley and Ray Hadley, Jr. I love how they open to "I Could Have Danced all Night":



The Gold Medal in Pairs Skating went to Maribel Owen and Dudley Richards. Watch how relaxed and poised they look:



In Ice Dancing, the Silver Medal was won by Donna Lee Carrier and Roger Campbell. Watch their precise footwork and they skate to "Biding My Time" and "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off":



Diane Sherbloom of Los Angeles and Larry Pierce of Indianapolis only had five weeks to put their routine together. They're charming- watch them open with "Pennies from Heaven". Later in the program, they Cha-Cha to "Isle of Capri"- it's really lovely.



The Men's Single Gold Medal was won by twenty-one year old Bradley Lord. A handsome young man with a great deal of poise, this is a great performance:



And last but certainly not least, here is our Winchester Pixie, the captivating sixteen year old Laurence Owen, with her gold medal performance. She really is a pixie, isn't she?



Rest well, young souls. We will always miss you and wonder what you could have achieved.

Read more about Sabena 548 here

And read more about the US Figure Skating Team here

stan and judy

I used to see her walking in the late afternoons in my neighborhood in Lake Balboa, up in the valley. I estimated her to be in her early eighties, although I later learned that both she and her husband were eighty-six. She was of smaller stature, with a neatly styled beehive of silver hair. She walked briskly past the little Kaiser Victory homes almost every afternoon. Her name was Judy, and she seemed to know the names of everyone she encountered on her journey.

She was married to a man named Stan. He sold Cadillacs, a second career he had started out of boredom after retiring from his first job. He was kind of a cranky old guy, but in a likable enough way. Gruff, but smiling. Theirs was the second marriage for each, and even after close to 30 years, they seemed devoted to each other. We didn't know all that much about them. They were good neighbors who lived quiet lives. We waved when we noticed their silver heads driving by in their big Cadillac sedan.

The little fifties neighborhoods in this area were all laid out similarly. To minimize the number of little streets exiting into the major ones, there was one egress per block which then fed the other neighborhood streets. The downside was that fifty years later, it could be quite dangerous exiting the neighborhood from the tiny streets, the vast majority of which still lack traffic lights.

It was the first Sunday in December. They decided to go out for breakfast and made the same left turn they had made ten thousand times, although this time was different. A city bus obscured Stan's view and for whatever reason he didn't wait for it. He didn't see the speeding Corvette with the two young men inside. It all happened so fast. The police estimated the Corvette was travelling 60 mph just prior to the time of impact.

I wish he hadn't been conscious after the crash, as I can't imagine what it was like for him to see his world shatter before his eyes. A more perfect universe would have spared him from that. Keenly aware that his beloved Judy was gone, witnesses said that he sat in the ruins of his once-proud Cadillac and held her hand. He himself was transported to a local hospital where he died later that morning. Both men in the Corvette were seriously injured but survived. The driver faced charges relating to his reckless speed.

I learned so much about them at the service. The family had created large display boards with many photographs. White-haired cranky Stan had been a hunk wrestler at UCLA in an earlier life. I was struck by a picture of him circa 1936, handsome, broad-shouldered, smiling, with his first wife, the gorgeous blond actress. They were seated in leather club chairs next to a rustic fireplace, and they looked like the King and Queen of California. Judy had been a dancer and model and had a beaming smile. She and Stan had travelled the world in their almost three decades together- riding Elephants in India, on Safari in Africa, riding in a gondola in Venice. I was amazed at the fascinating lives this quiet couple had led, and how eighty six years of living all ended in the fraction of an instant, during the execution of a seemingly innocuous left turn.

Outside the chapel, one of his coworkers shared a conversation he had with Stan a few months back. Stan, concerned about one having to get by without the other, had told him that when their time came, he just wished to God that they could go together. It was merciful of Him to grant the wish.

done too soon

As the hours of the old year trickle down to less than a handful, I am reflecting on those who left us in 2008. Whether they be famous or family, there were a lot of significant losses in the last year.

I wanted to take a few moments to recall on some of those who left us in 2008. They need not be legends like Paul Newman, Kitty Carlisle, Beverly Sills or Eartha Kitt to be dearly missed. They need not have touched a million lives like Randy Pausch, or have pioneered for civil rights like Johnnie Carr or Del Martin. They need not have entered my teenage world weekly like Suzanne Pleashette, danced like Cyd Charisse or created art like Robert Rauschenberg. Some like Heath Ledger seemed to have so much road still before them.

Here's a tiny snapshot of some who left us, from the Los Angeles Times.

Before 2008 becomes history, let me say to all that you made a unique contribution to this shared consciousness known as society, and we thank each of you for the gifts you gave us.

In remembrance, here is a period BBC performance by a terribly young looking Neil Diamond, just beginning to hit his stride. From his 1970 album Tap Root Manuscript, surrounded by brass, here is Done Too Soon:



And each one there
Have one thing they shared
They have sweated beneath the same Sun
Looked up in wonder at the same Moon
And wept when it was all done
for being done too soon
For being sone too soon.

chain reaction

His name was Bobby. He was a little waif in a bomber jacket and black boots, two days worth of beard concealing his boyish face. And he was a snotty little bastard. I asked him to dance and he said coolly, "I'm waiting for a Diana Ross song".

And then the DJ played "Chain Reaction". I looked over him and smiled. He flashed the most beautiful smile. I had him.



I remember so much about that night at La Cage in Milwaukee twenty one years ago. His ridiculous boots, the snow flurries outside, the tiny warm lobby of his twenties brownstone building, the rickety elevator, his bright red briefs, how wonderful it felt to hold him on a chilly fall night.

I was so crazy about him. We had a wonderful winter and spring. In reality, I guess he was my first real boyfriend. Wow, hadn't really thought of that.

Our lives took us in wildly different directions. I hadn't spoken with him since I moved to California in the mid-90's. On the internet, I read that he died on September 2nd, 2008, after a long battle with HIV.

Wherever you are, Bobby, thanks for the memory.